


Never In Peace

by Clinkclinkb



Category: Never In Peace
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Crying, Dysphoria, Gen, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, I’m naming the chapter titles as vines and you can’t stop me, LGBTQ Characters, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Murder, Other, Sam deserves some sleep, Self-Hatred, Spirits, Spirits have anxiety???, Swearing, Teens trying to be teens, Torture, Trans Male Character, depressed, dying, ghost hauntings, highschool kids, i spent time writing this than homework, mention of self-harm, no spoiler that Sam dies, only happens more later on though, same with Alexa, slight amnesia, tags added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 04:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16824862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clinkclinkb/pseuds/Clinkclinkb
Summary: Sam lived a good chunk of his life suffering, it would be no surprise that he found himself face to face with his past that he pushed out from his life.Now here he was getting chased by some spirit hunters, some unknown psychopath, and people that are just following orders.Along with that he must find a way to correctly die with the help of the last person he saw, Alexa.He never thought that it would get this far.[Alterative Title: Sam gets killed and has no choice but to haunt his friend Alexa while trying to face his sin.]





	1. Sad Backstory Unlocked With No Answers

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I made a Instagram poll on whether or not to make this into a written story and a few people so far said yes. So here it is! I’ll be updating a lot on this, so stay on the lookout. For those who saw this on here my instagram is Kogaynex so you can check out my art if you want.
> 
> \- Sam

He knew he would end up dying at some point.

But no one but him knew that meant at the age of 15. 

He was a freshman in high school, one of the older kids out of his grade. He had good grades, an AB student. Never got into serious trouble nor did he even get called out on by the teachers for doing something in class. He was told that he was a model student by most of his teachers, they respected him and he gave the same. 

When he told them to call him by Sam they immediately agreed to it and would correct themselves if they accidentally said his deadname. Over time they stopped that luckily, which he was thankful for.

But what they didn’t know was he had his secrets, thoughts that plagued him in the day and the night, problems that bubbled up over the years. He never said anything, he wished not to drag people into these problems.

He spent a good chunk of his life suffering. Only eight years old when his parents got divorced, told the news on his eighth birthday. What a way to tell him that his life was going to change forever. To this day he still remembers the last hug they would ever share, tears shared by all three of them before his father turned to the door and left with a final wave.

He’s forgotten his warmth by now.

After that they moved.

Entering into third grade he had been bullied for an entire year before finally actually saying something to his mom. Hitting, kicking, scratched, pushed down, belittling him, they did it all. The entire grade hated him and none of the teachers stopped it despite seeing it happen.  
He hated recess starting from the beginning of the bullying. 

He remembers coming home crying to his mom, words choked out at a fast pace as his mom hugged him tightly (it would be years later before he told her what occurred during that time period, and when she realized it wasn’t because he was having a hard time making friends). 

Once more they moved away (they’ve stayed here for five to six years now, it shocks him how long it’s been). Soon enough after the moved his mom told him he would have to go to his father’s house every summer for five weeks.

No biggie right?  
Wrong.

It was hell, worse than hell. He hated it there, hated everything about that place. The strong smell of smoke and beer is what he woke up to every morning along with a shove from his father to wake up.  
He spent every five weeks couped up in that house with no way to escape, unable to run and hide from his reality. More issues began to occur the longer he stayed in that wretched house.

Soon enough he began to become more angry with his father (he doesn’t remember when he stopped calling him “father”). 

Which turned into unadulterated hatred. 

Then that incident happened.  
His father told him to come into the garage and there sat a gun, on the wooden table full of canned beer and cigarettes. 

He had to cock the gun (little did he know anxiety had taken over his entire body). 

So his father forced him to learn how to use a gun after a whole day of smoking and drinking. Because of that he didn’t trust the man to protect him, nonetheless have a gun in his hands. 

He remembers being unable to cock the gun, his entire body shaking and sweating as his father wouldn’t let him leave until he finally did it.

He doesn’t remember how long he stayed there trying until he finally got it and his father letting him go back inside. Once he was, he stayed in his room trying but failing as tears fell from his eyes.

He never felt safe, the other kids would sometimes get dragged into a room and spanked (he remembers their screaming, their cries for help along with another smack). So he stayed obedient, scared for his own safety. 

Years later his mom would figure out what happened at the tender age of 9, how he was shown to use a gun forcefully. And soon would later find out that he almost got drowned.  
It was no surprise that he ended up in the situation he was in.

5th grade is the kicker for it all.

He started to draw a character. Someone who he needed to be, who he wished to be, who he was. They shared the same thoughts and emotions, the same ideas, they were him. And he was them.  
This character was a boy, with blonde short hair and freckles dotted on his face.

His name was “Sam”.

Two years later he would realize what it all meant. 

And realize he was an absolute dumbass for not realizing it all sooner. 

He kept “Sam” a secret, he knew what it meant if he spoke a single word. Too many conflicts had occurred because of his mouth, so he kept him to himself. This was only the beginning of keeping things locked up (later on he would find himself telling his mom about him being a boy). 

6th grade was the beginning of his downfall.

He was mostly logical, not one to really deal with fickle feelings. His anger raged inside him everyday but he kept it locked up with a smiley mask. If only people had looked closer, than maybe he could have avoided 7th grade. But it couldn’t be helped.  
During 6th grade he began to feel more depressed, which soon turned into suicide. He ended up writing a letter saying he was depressed and wanted to commit suicide (which he would be sent down to the office and taken in to see the “therapist” there at the school). His mom didn’t trust him by himself afterwards.

But that didn’t stop it.

7th grade, where should he even start?

It was a fucking mess, absolute hell, purgatory. 

That’s when he met Alexa. They had the same gym as each other and when he saw her, he just had to say “hi”. She looked nice after all, so as they sat on the ground waiting for their teacher to start attendance, he gave a big smile and said,”Hi! What’s your name?”

With such a soft voice she replied with,”Alexa.”

But he didn’t hear that well and figured she said “Alexis” (later on he would say “Alexis” then she would say “It’s Alexa” which then he felt like a total dumbass, he said Alexis for an entire week and she just says this now). 

Soon he gathered up a group of friends and that’s when the groupchat “O dang” had begun (the name has stayed the same even after two years and more members have joined since then). 

Despite all the happiness, it soon enough crashed with a screeching halt.

Depression really smacked him in the fucking face then.

He started to cut, tried to commit suicide a few times himself. Especially after he found the words to these feelings he’s had for years now. 

Welcome gender dysphoria.

So yes he had found out that he was a transgender male after years of suffering. He knew he was a boy, but he couldn’t put it into words, he didn’t know the word for it. That is until now.  
Then he told his mom.  
A bad reaction is an understatement (two years later he would find himself with chopped hair and a binder soon going to see a gender therapist after coming out to his mom again and her realizing it never was a phase).  
He fell in deeper into the depression, hope was lost completely in his eyes. 

That is until he left the middle school after 7th grade and transferred to a new school for 8th grade. 

Halle-fucking-lujah. 

He fought everyday with his demons, anxiety always kicking him down along with his dysphoria making it even harder for him to want to live. 

His grades showed it.  
Hey, at least he made some cool as all hell friends (to this day they are still his best friends alongside the “O dang” chat).  
Funny how he found himself surrounded by friends that were apart of the LGBTQ community without even trying. It made the load easier knowing he wasn’t the only one. 

Because of them pushing him he came out again to his mom with a 5 paged letter. They gave him the courage (he wished to thank them as they helped him find the courage, especially after how far he’s come since he came out).  
She told him to just be himself and that she accepts him no matter what. 

She said she will always love him.

He has the best mom and no one can change his mind.

He knew she has always accepted the LGBTQ community which made him question why she made it such a problem back in 7th grade (he would find that answer 3 months later that she was afraid of the bullying to occur, and that he had been influenced, which he understood and reassured that this is who he is. She accepted his words). 

During the summer his hair had been officially chopped off after school ended. 

He spent his summer happy, finally relaxed and actually going out with his friends, his smiles more genuine. 

Once 9th grade started, he was prepared. He ran ahead and came out on top with fantastic grades to show his motivation. He joined the GSA along with his friends (he would very soon make more from GSA) and absolutely crush his classes with whooping A’s.  
Later on in the school year he had gained his first binder, wearing it almost everyday with a big smile (his dysphoria was still there, don’t be fooled). His teachers following with “Sam” and using “he/him” pronouns. 

People in his class caught on and didn’t say anything negative, instead when they needed something they refer to him as “Sam” (which he would immediately answer with a smile as his heart soared). 

With all of this positivity that had been occurring at a rapid pace, how the absolute fuck did he find himself shot and killed. 

No one knew the answer to that but him. 

He knew this would happen, he knew that he would die. 

So he made notes on everything that is occurring in his life, everything that had happened before 9th grade, his entire life placed onto a single note on his phone.

He assigned Alexa to hand it to his mom if anything happened to him.

Who knew when it would finally reach the world, all the negativity caused in his life, what made him who he is, how he found himself, everything was placed down. 

Soon they would know his sins. 

Soon they will understand everything that has occurred in his life. 

Soon they will be faced with the truth.

They will soon know that the cause of his death was his own being. He knew what he did, he knew what he was doing. He knew he had angered him. As soon as he saw his father standing before him, a gun in his hand.

He knew it would end with blood.

With a quick swipe, he gathered his knife.

And here he questions,  
Is he a hero?  
Or is he a villain?


	2. What the Fuck Richard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He turned his head towards the noise, confusion filled his head.  
> There stood Alexa, her phone on the floor as she stared at him with shock. Her eyes filled with tears, he then realized she had seen him.
> 
> His smile seemed strained and wobbly,”So how’s life?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Death commences too early – almost before you’re half-acquainted with life – you meet the other.”  
> — Tennessee Williams

A bad question is,”How did we get here?”

A good question is,”What the absolute flying fuck?”

He knew this entire place was filled with cameras, so he made his father follow him. He knew his ass would end up in jail with his quick thinking. If there were videos of it, then it’ll make everyone’s job much easier.

But even that never answers the questions.

Why did his father do this?  
Why did his father shoot his own?  
Why did both say what they said?  
Why does he hate his father?  
What caused it?

All good questions that people want answers to. 

But they’ll live with his story and the videos. 

Here he is, running off and going straight to the lunchroom, somehow not hearing any shots go off yet.  
Which is understandable if this jackass is completely intoxicated. It’s quite difficult to tell with him honestly, an alcoholic somehow makes it difficult if they are constantly drinking. 

He’s surprised that he hasn’t started shooting yet, after all he tried to slash him with the knife. Which he had grabbed with his bare hand, now bleeding as he ran with panted breaths. His father falling more behind, he made sure of it. With swift feet he led him straight to the lunchroom.  
He skidded to a stop and turned his body to face his father. He huffed as he waited, he held the knife with conviction.

He will not go down without a fight.

They stood there for a while, eyes not leaving each other. A single movement would cause chaos, both knew it. His father’s eyes left for a spilt second.

That’s all he needed.

He went in for the kill.

His body turned to follow his arm, swiping at his father with a single shot. Blood spurted out, a shout came from his father along with blood dripping down his chin. His father growled, eyes steel as he raised his hand. 

He has forgotten. 

¡B A N G!

Pain seared through his entire body, he choked on his air as the world spun before crashing to the ground along with his father. 

He remembers screaming, words slurring as he spoke with venom. He remembers his father crying as he watched me (he refuses to believe he showed shame, guilt, and love).  
His eyes blurred, as he watch the blood flow to make a puddle. 

That is until he was placed to face the ceiling.  
He heard screaming and shouting, orders seeming to be placed. White noise buzzed in his ears, his head pounding. He closed his eyes, before hazily opening his eyes to be faced with brown. Tears streamed down the person’s face, hitting his with weight. 

He remembers saying something to them. He remembers their screams to stop him from speaking, that he’ll be fine, wait a little longer.

Then it all faded into black.

He doesn’t remember much of the fight, nor does he remember his last words. Who he saw, he remembers none. But he remembers how he felt, the burning, hot hatred towards his father.  
He killed him after all.  
Mentally, emotionally,  
and now physically. 

Sonvabitch.

He suspected that his father would come and get him, he knew he would. He remembers the dreams, the flashes into the future. He specifically remembers the light bouncing off of the gun as it pointed straight at him.  
Rarely did they not happen, or did they change. 

He accepted his death though.  
Which most sane people wouldn’t.  
He doesn’t believe he’s really sane.

But holy shit, did he not suspect this to be what happens after death. Granted it took a while for him to awaken, nothing seemed right at first. It felt like he was floating on thin air.

Then he realized why he felt like that.

As he floated (???) there, right in front of him was his dead body. 

Well shit.

He doesn’t remember how long he stayed there staring at his seemingly too little body laying lifeless on the bed. He snapped out of it as voices came closer to his room, he quickly went towards the wall. As he did, he faded through the wall, shock rocked his entire body as he found himself faced with a shoulder. 

A shiver ran up his spine as the man walked through him. 

“Holy fuck..”

He needed to leave.

Two days later, the numbness has left his mind.  
He floated those two days, no rational thought entered his mind. As the third day passed, he floated himself to a house he hasn’t been to in so long.

That’s how he found himself in Alexa’s room, he wasn’t unable to go see his mom. He couldn’t, he felt dread and deep sadness at the thought of seeing his mom. He knew he would see disappointment and the dark depression in his mom’s blue eyes.  
He wouldn’t be able to stomach it. 

As he floated around her room, parts of his life rolls in like waves. Memories wash in, he felt at peace with himself. Forgetting the coldness he felt with the man that walked through him, comfort wrapped him in a cozy blanket.  
He reeled in it.  
He needed this warmth, as his mind has started to forget the memories.

He knows he’s only been dead for three days.  
But he felt too numb as the days clashed together into one. His mind fuzzy with memories he cannot place, after his death he had forgotten quite the bit. He would ask Alexa but no one has seen him, so why should she be an exception? 

That he had thought until there was a loud gasp coming from the door.

He turned his head towards the noise, confusion filled his head.  
There stood Alexa, her phone on the floor as she stared at him with shock. Her eyes filled with tears, he then realized she had seen him.

His smile seemed strained and wobbly,”So how’s life?”


	3. So I’m Sitting There, Barbecue Sauce On My Titties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There stood his mom, her blonde hair covering part of her face. But he knows her better than anyone else, her entire body is trembling. Crystals fall onto her skin, then he knows she’s crying. 
> 
> That’s when he truly realizes what he has left behind.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.” — Washington Irving

—————————————————————————

He found himself floating on his back, his head tilted towards Alexa as he waited for her response. She sat on her bed, hands blocking her face. 

“C’mon, it’s not that shocking! Yeah yeah I died, whatever, no big deal!”

The way she shot her head up made him believe she gave herself whiplash,”No big deal?! I saw you bleeding out on the ground dying, and no one could do anything about it!” Her body trembled as she carried on,”Now you’re telling me that it’s no big deal? You aren’t even supposed to be in front of me right now! You were supposed to be..”

Dead, the word was left hanging. 

“Look I get it, it’s shocking as all hell, but you and I both knew this was going to happen at some point. I told you that these flashes were real, so I made the plan just because I knew I would be killed,” he stared straight down at her,”If I was dying, I wanted my mom to know everything. And you did that for me, right?” 

Alexa seemed lost on his words before shaking her head,”I never got the chance to, I couldn’t. You didn’t even see how your mom looked, she.. she looked so haunted and like she wasn’t really there,” she seemed to choke for a moment,”just a ghost..”

He understood why she wasn’t able to, with a nod he floated back more, giving space. Closing his eyes he was met with the silence, he tried sorting through his memories unable to place the pieces together.  
All he remembers is the hatred for his father and himself.  
He knows anger had been a ruler of his life. 

What a lonely life he had led.

He wasn’t even able to remember his father’s name. A name he use to speak with such venom, now gone from his tongue. 

“We could try to tell her at the wake.”  
He snapped his eyes open, turning completely upside down as he looked towards her,”When’s the wake at?” She thought about it for a moment before speaking,”Tomorrow at two P.M. I believe.”  
He smiled slightly, with a nod. He thought about it for a moment before smirking,”I wouldn’t miss my own funeral for nothing.”

Took her awhile to convince her mother about going to his wake. He could’ve gone himself but he needs Alexa to send the message. It’ll be strange to see his phone in another’s hands, no doubt about that. What he’s mostly concerned about is if the police has confiscated his phone, and if they will find the note themselves.  
There’s a possibility they will, who knows?  
If they do, it will be out there that he knew his death was coming.  
He wasn’t fully prepared for that. He’s dead so they can’t really do much about it.  
But they could question Alexa, which gives him a bit of anxiety when he thinks about it. 

He floats above her, staying close by as she walks towards the building. People are outside, talking with hushed voices, he knew this was the calm before the storm.  
Alexa opened the door, Brenda (her twin sister, a good friend of his as well) along with the rest of the family followed along. He just phased through the door.  
He felt his form crawl, he shook himself out trying to control himself. He looked around as there were people standing and talking, he didn’t know how to really feel about it all that much.  
Alexa was walking slowly, trying to stay composed but he can tell she was slowly crumbling as they continued down the hall. It cracked more as they turned into the room. 

Posters holding pictures upon pictures surrounded the room, drawings hung up nicely, all done by his hand. Ahead there was his favorite hoodie hung up neatly to show its design, his Deku hoodie. He adored that thing with a burning passion.  
They stopped and looked at all the pictures of himself, him smiling and posing for the camera with gusto. 

He had always been photogenic. 

He had one issue though.  
Most of the pictures were him with long blonde locks that hung below his chest, his eyes hid his deep sadness and hatred for himself.  
He kept that thought to himself.  
Slowly they circled the room, eyes following every picture—soaking every detail. What a life he had lived, and these were only a few seconds of it. Then they had stopped in front of the last poster. 

Him with short hair, a binder that you were unable to see but he knew it was there.  
Happiness really shown in these pictures.  
He had started to really love himself more, after all—he was so close to being his true self.  
He would cherish these pictures. 

They walked towards the exit before stopping. Notes upon notes filled a desk next to another huge poster filled with posted notes. 

These were from his school.

There’s no way.  
He scanned them all, his eyes taking everything in as his mouth hung in shock. 

Words filled to the brim, he choked for a second as he continued to read them all. Even those who didn’t know him had stopped to place something, he didn’t know what to think of it. There’s word that stands through each one of them.

R.I.P Sam. 

“You didn’t deserve this.”  
He turned his head towards the voice, his mouth clenched as tears pricked his eyes.  
His cousins, his aunt, his uncle. There they are, standing with tears running down their faces. His younger cousin (he remembers playing toys with her, as she always wanted to play) sobbing and sniffling. 

It hit him, right then and there, how many people there are that truly loved him. Those who stood by his side and was always available when he needed them. With the realization in mind, he remembers that people are here to see him, to remember him and his name. People are here. 

It crushes him even more. 

Tears struggle against him, skimming down his form. He gasps for air, before choking on a sob. 

Alexa is next to him, he feels her presence. But both of them know that he is unable to feel a touch of another, unable to call for comfort as he feels no warmth.  
Instead he sobs to himself as he watches more people enter and take in everything, he watches his cousins walk away (he cries harder knowing he is unable to recall their names).  
After ten minutes, Alexa walks to the next room, tears rolling down her face as he floats lifeless next to her.  
He hears her suck in air, he looks up before realizing why.

There stood his mom, her blonde hair covering part of her face. But he knows her better than anyone else, her entire body is trembling. Crystals fall onto her skin, then he knows she’s crying. 

That’s when he truly realizes what he has left behind.

As they wait their turn to talk to her, he looks around his surroundings. He realizes his family is all here to see him, tears racking them as they watch his mom. He looks towards a woman, with white hair with striking eyes that remind him of his mom. With succession, memories flood in like a dam. 

His grandma.   
He cannot recall her name.  
His tongue was able to produce it so easily before.  
Now it’s stuck in his throat, unable to come out. But dammit he’s going to try.  
He opens his mouth, forcing himself to call out.  
No noise came.   
After trying, he decides to stay quiet. Frustration crawls through his form and settles into him. He can remember the faces of his loved ones, but he must suffer knowing he will never be able to cry out to them.   
All of those pleasant memories wiped clean from his mind. Unable to recall anything from his life. His heart calls for them to hear, to see him, his heart bleeds for them. 

Nobody answers.


End file.
